


Schrodinger’s Cat

by Wolferyn



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F, implied suicide, inscest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolferyn/pseuds/Wolferyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You would not believe she existed if you couldn’t feel her body tremble beneath your very own hands. In the right light they almost look like hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schrodinger’s Cat

_You would not believe she existed if you couldn’t feel her body tremble beneath your very own hands. In the right light they almost look like hers._

(i)

She doesn’t actually exist in the moments between your last meeting and your current meeting. She’s Schrodinger’s cat, you dictate her existence. You decide her worth. If you close your eyes she can be anyone or anything; the blonde from the bar, the woman in your defense class who has glasses too big for her face. Sometimes, when she has just woken up and her voice is filled with gravel and half-formed regrets, she can sound like one of the guys you dated back in college. If you are drunk, you can separate her name from her face. When you hiss her name, as she curls her fingers _that_ way or she bites down on that spot just above the juncture of your neck, it doesn’t belong to your little sister, it belongs to the young woman you met last year when you came home for summer, the stranger in your family home. _(But did you ever know her?)_

(ii)

When she begs you to let her come you laugh bitterly against her throat and tell her no and to get away from you. She complies. You wonder when that started, who broke her. She had an iron will but iron is smelted all the time. _(You didn’t break her, you couldn’t - you’re as cold as ice, colder still.)_

(iii)

“It’s fucked up. I’m fucked up. You’re even more fucked up for thinking we could ever be a thing.”

She has tears streaming down her face but she doesn’t move from her perch on the bed. You end up slamming your own door as you leave your own room. You never could deal with her tears.

(iv)

One hundred and seventy four hours is how long it takes before you fold.  You find out Spencer still dreams about knights on white horses. You aren’t a knight and you don’t have a horse but in the darkness of the motel room three towns over you can be anything you want. _(You want to be normal.)_ She doesn’t ask you to stay with her, so you do just to spite her. She doesn’t feel the wetness on the back of her neck where you have tucked your head, or she pretends not to.

(v)

“She makes me angry. Disgusted. She makes me hate myself. I can’t look at her without wanting to scream myself hoarse. I hate her.”

“Well why do you stay in her company if you feel this way?” Your therapist crosses their legs and tilts their head at you expectedly.

“Because she doesn’t see all this, she thinks I’m some sort of gift from god.”

“So its this…pressure then? It’s very reasonable to feel that way considering your relationship with your parents. In fact-“

“No. No you don’t get it.” If there were a time for pulling out hair it would be now. “She’s the only one that doesn’t exert some sort of pressure.” They give you a look and you feel like they can see directly into your mind. Instead they send you on your way with more thinking “homework”. 

(vi)

If fucking was an Olympic sport you and Spencer would be gold medalists.

(vii)

Your dad ends up in the hospital but you won’t even hold her hand in the hospital waiting room. Your mom thinks it’s some petty argument and rolls her eyes and huffs every time you flinch away from Spencer’s fidgeting hands. “I’m fucking your daughter.” You want to shout at her but you don’t, you get the next round of coffee. 

(viii)

Spencer’s never been good with heights, so when you see her on the roof of your apartment complex you can’t drop the groceries and run up the stairs fast enough. You scream at her before your voice fails you, staggering backwards and slipping to the floor. “There’s no use crying over spilled milk Melissa.” You know there’s an underlying message there but you don’t want to acknowledge it. Hastings 101: if you ignore it then it doesn’t exist. You learned from the best.

 (ix)

When you realize it’s a leap year you laugh until the sobs get lodged in your throat and you find yourself sinking into the floor hoping it will swallow you up. 

It doesn’t.

(x)

She was Schrodinger’s cat except you opened the box.


End file.
